the god monologue

 
maybe mr.dawkins was right, maybe i don’t exist. maybe i am a figment of someone’s imagination, a collective delusion. of late, i have been losing it, i am not too sure anymore. there was a time of fire and brimstone, the wrath of god and such but memory fails, do you still do all those things in my name? i mean, rape and pillage, plucked tongues and lead down the throat, blood spilled on the streets, the cries of the children, the dead and the dying, planes flying, the lies and the tales of my power and glory as you stand washed in the blood of the lamb, or made bold and unyielding by prayer? you still do it, don’t you? all in my name, kill, draw first blood, turn lose the wild beast, hunt down the unbeliever, the blasphemer, all in my name, you are doing my biding aren’t you? i am not too sure no more, it’s been a while. did i promise you heaven, where water flows like wine and women dance in the buff, and do your every bidding? you kill, rape, maim in my name and did i say i’ll give you a life of peace and happiness and eternal bliss? a little skewed, don’t you think? and did i say that you were special, that you were my chosen, that you have a covenant with me, that i have a thing about foreskins, that i hate the sight of women? did i ask you to fall down and cringe and scrounge, scream and shout, stone the whores and break the bones of the infidels? did i ask you to hate each other, in my name? did i have a son? and if i did, where the hell is he? and what did you do to him? listen, i don’t call the shots here, the time is way past, i am weary and weak, and i am sick of your fuckers doing things in my name. let me get my shit together, for starters, you love locusts, don’t you?